Mask
by KDMOSP
Summary: "Every Friday at noon for the past two years, Will LaMontagne had sat in your office to process the loss of his wife, Jennifer Jareau." (Loss can mean so much, it doesn't always mean death!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I am back! Of course, this is violent. Be prepared as well for foul language.**

You take a deep breath and crackyour knuckles before standing up and stretching. It was time for your weekly client, his most reliable client. Every Friday at noon for the past two years, Will LaMontagne had sat in your office to process the loss of his wife, Jennifer Jareau.

Over the past two years, you and Will had developed a close rapport, but you made sure to ensure the therapeutic relationship was honored. Will knew he could always call you, but also understood that you were acting as his therapist and therefore could not be his friend.

But your heart hurt for the man who had lost so much and had never really gotten the closure he so desperately needed.

Will had been referred by a family friend, begging the detective to go and see someone for the sake of his children. After his oldest son, Henry, had found his father with a gun loaded on the table. And right then and there, Will conceded that he needed help.

And he had called you asking for an appointment. The rest was history.

You had gathered information over the years, his wife, a talented federal agent had been working an undercover case. Something had gone horribly wrong and she had disappeared without a trace. She had never been seen again. And there was very little hope that she would ever be found alive.

You had sat with Will as he began moving forward with his life without his wife, he had dealt with the anger, the guilt, denial, barraging and finally accepted that his wife was most likely gone. He still held onto a tiny bit of hope, a strand of it, and until her body was found, that shred of hope existed.

And you allowed that, there was no sense in destroying his hope, or his sons' hope that one day their mother and wife would return home.

"Hey Will" You greet him, shaking his hand and leading him into your office. He looks upset and you see one tear roll down his cheek. "Tell me what that tear is about?"

He nods and swallows. "Today is her birthday." He whispers.

You lick your lips, it's a classic trigger for anyone. "How old would she have been?"

"38." He says softly.

"Do you and the boys have any plans to celebrate her?"

"No. I.." He shakes his head. "I didn't think about doing anything."

"Do you think it would help? Maybe get a cake, write her a letter, play soccer? Do something in her memory?"

And so the session moves forward, talking about ways to get passed the birthday. It is decided that Will and Henry and Michael will hold a party for JJ's 38th birthday, all of her friends will be invited. And by the time the session is done, Will is calmer.

You remind him to call you if needed. And smile as he walks out.

It is finally time for you to head home. It has been an exhausting day.

You stop at the store and pick up a few things for dinner, and remembering your client earlier, you grab a cake. Cake sounds amazing.

The drive home is uneventful and you smile when pull into your driveway. Home at last, and it is the weekend. Thank God.

You walk in, pet your dog and change your clothes.

"Screw dinner." You say to yourself and cut into the cake, before heading to the media room. You grab your keys and unlock the door before walking in.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but you walk forward and grin, unzipping your pants. Before bending down.

You kick out and laugh at the site in front of you. You lay the cake in front of her, just in front of her where she cannot access it. The only food she has seen in days.

"Happy birthday, bitch."


	2. Taunt

**A/N: I want to be very clear about this; I got burned bad for this once. Writing is a very therapeutic media for me, it helps me heal from my past trauma. In saying that, I do not see this as a professional platform, although I do my best to keep my stories free of errors. Please keep that in mind if you plan on flaming me. I have a very successful professional career, this is just a hobby. I don't want the joy taken away because I have to worry about being "professional."**

You don't bother waiting for an answer as you trudge back upstairs; and then stop, a smirk snaking across your face. You lick your lips and turn back around, sautéing over to the broken figure huddled in the corner. You take your time, taking each step slowly, deliberately, the creaking is loud enough that you know she is hearing it, hearing you. You know she knows you are coming back.

"You are pathetic, do you know that?" You ask crouching down in front of her. You reach out and grab a strand of hair, pulling. She barely flinches as it easily falls out and into your fingers. "Disgusting." You shake it out of your hands letting it fall to the floor next to the provisions you have so graciously provided her. And yet, she has never said thank you, never shown any gratitude for your unconditional love and support.

And it angers you, you feel your blood boiling at the mere sight of the creature in front of you. Not once has she offered one word of gratitude, ungrateful bitch has no idea how well she has it. You clinch your fists and feel your nails digging deeper into your skin. You feel your skin heating up at the thought of the thing in front of you.

You should have just killed her when you had the chance. But you didn't and here you were, stuck with this ungodly tumor that wouldn't leave you alone.

You take in a deep breath, feeling the oxygen hitting your nostrils and you count to ten, utilizing the very techniques you teach your clients.

And then it takes a deep breath, taunting you, and your eyes shoot open in pure rage.

And you damn sure make sure she has learned not to taunt you.

By the time you are done, you are sweating, it is pouring down your cheeks and you simply spit on the animal helpless on the floor.

And you leave her there, in her own blood, filth, vomit and tears. After all, you have to get to work. You have a grief support group to lead.

Three hours later, you are standing, clean, happy and fake "Welcome, good to see you John!" You smile and hold open the door to your office, allowing clients to enter. It's a weekly meeting you hold for grieving families, including children. You have one set of clients that attends occasionally, Will's friends. They have lost as well, lost their friend and you see they have benefits tremendously from your support group.

Today is different though, it's an annual celebration you have created to help celebrate the lives of those lost. It is designed to be a celebration of life, rather than a solemn occasion.

The office is decorated from head to toe with balloons, streamers, and other celebratory designs litter the walls. Music blares from the walls and children's laughter is prominent.

On the corner of the office is a small table set aside, you have left numerous blank cards for grieving family members to write letters to their loved ones. It is often a hit, and you know most participate and find the activity healing.

You are walking around, shaking hands and hugging on people, some current clients, some passed. All thankful for you. And you see the door open and a group of familiar people walk in.

"Will." You greet him, bending down to hand each of his boys' a sucker. They beam with joy and thank you before running off to the kind woman who has volunteered to be the face painter for the day.

"Aaron, Morgan, they are coming.."

It is not a therapy session today, so you don't bother asking him how he is doing. But deep in your mind, you picked this day, this very day to always have the ceremony- the day after his wife's birthday. Of course, he will never pick up on that.

"That's great! You are lucky to have such a strong support system."

He nods and smiles and you see it is a fake smile, so you place your hand on his arm and remind him to call you if he needs you. You also remind him to enjoy the day.

"Oh and Will." You stop and see him turn towards you. "I know you enjoyed the card activity last year, we have it set up again. Go ahead and write to her, put it in the box, and it stays there. Nobody will ever see it." You pause. "I bet the boys would love to draw her a picture."

"What do I say?" He asks, looking away.

"Whatever you want; you never know Will. Maybe one day, she will get to read the cards."


	3. Fish

**AN: I am heading out of town tomorrow so am not sure I will be able to write until I return (on Friday) I may be able to get a second chapter up tonight!**

You stroll the aisles of your local store, smiling at the holiday decorations that are now prominent everywhere you look. It is just early October and already Christmas trees stand out amongst the giant blow up pumpkins and other Halloween decorations.

Halloween. One of your most favorite holidays; time to play tricks on those you love. And those you despise.

You grab a bag of mixed candy treats and shake your head as you throw them in your cart. You know they will never live to see Halloween night, no, these are not for the kiddos that will soon patter over your doorstep. These are for you.

By the time you leave, your cart is full of miscellaneous items, most you had no intention of buying. But alas, here you are, credit card in hand as you watch the cashier scan one item after another. She picks up one item and smiles at you.

"A fan? It's supposed to snow tomorrow." She chuckles and bags the room fan. Superior strength.

You grin back. "I have a guest, she cannot sleep without the fan on." She is down to the last few items when something on a shelf caches your eye. You grab it and shake it, instantly the sound of rattlesnakes is heard. "Go ahead, add this. My friend will love it."

Nearly $300.00 later, you make it out of the store and towards your truck. It's a brand new, fully loaded Tundra. A massive beast on the road, and one you take great pride in.

The kid helps you load your bags into the truck, mindful of the car seat. With a quick nod and thank you, you climb in and look at the clock. It's almost noon. On Friday. It is time to see Will.

As usual, he is right on time. You go through the motions and decide this is a good day to press him, just a bit. He seems to be in a stable mood; it's worth a shot. You will just approach it gently.

"Will, will you tell me about the day? Let me know what happened?" Yes, you have a good rapport with him, but it was one thing that was rarely discussed, it was very painful for him. He chews his lip and you push forward. "Okay, how about this, lets break it down. What happened in the morning?"

You see a small grin form. "It was normal; actually it wasn't, because JJ was home. We spent a few hours together, just talking."

"What did you talk about?"

"We need a bigger house, we were quickly outgrowing the one we were in." He pauses.

"What's happening right now?" You lower your tone, watching him fight tears.

"I.. I have never spoken it. Hotch knows, the teams knows, but nobody outside knows."

You raise your eyebrows. "Knows what?"

"When JJ disappeared, she.. she was three months pregnant." And he breaks down in tears; not only grieving the loss of his wife, but the loss of his unborn child.

And you will let him continue thinking that.

In reality you know the truth.

You sit and talk with him for another twenty minutes, he never detailed much more about what happened that day. You will try again for that information another time. You escort Will out and turn to your office.

You make sure the door is locked before you pick up the phone and call your sister.

"Hi there," You smile at her voice and the laughter in the background.

"Hey you! Don't worry, we are all good here. Just playing in the mud."

You roll your eyes, your daughter is with your sister, in good hands. She is safe, she is healthy.. and she isn't biologically your daughter. But you do not mind, because you have raised her since birth; since that disgusting excuse for a woman in your basement gave birth.

You had purposefully kept Ruth away from that trash, Ruthie didn't need to ever know the hell you had rescued her from.

And now, at almost two years old, she is the light of your life. A child full of wonder, intelligence, and curiosity. Her blonde ringlets cascade down her back and you dread the day you will take her for her first haircut.

"I got Ruthie's Halloween costume." You tell your sister.

"Oh gosh, what is it this year?"

"A fish!"

And you both start laughing.

Life is good.


	4. Bleach

**AN: This baddie is SICK. Just know that. Lots more twists to come :)**

You roll your eyes as you trudge down to the basement, the "thing" is coughing and coughing hard. It has awaken you from a deep sleep, a wonderful nap- and you were woken up.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You growl, grabbing her under her chin and forcing her to look up. You step back; she looks like hell. She looks like she is dying.. And you realize as you touch her skin again, that that might very well be the case.

Damn it. Not now. Not yet. You have kept her alive for two damn years, she cannot die just weeks before you need her. You have slaved over her, played doctor, nurse and keeper for a long time, she cannot die now.

"Take a deep breath." You command her and instantly hear the telltale wheezing sign. Crap. Your luck, she has contracted pneumonia- damn bitch cannot even keep herself healthy. You shake your head and grab your keys, unlocking the metal chains around her wrist that keep her secured to the brick wall.

She doesn't move, doesn't try and get up or walk; she sits there. Like a defeated puppy. Helpless. Completely and utterly helpless. Like a damn victim.

You groan and grab her by the arm, forcing her to her feet. "You know what is pathetic about you? Well, besides everything about you." You push her forward, pausing as she falls to the ground. "You play the role of victim so well; that anyone would buy it. That you truly are a victim." You reach down and pull her up by what is left of her ragged shirt. Crap- she is burning up- you can feel the heat of her skin radiating through the shirt.

And almost, just almost, you feel a bit of sympathy of her. But not quite enough to let her go, or to call a doctor. No. No. Nothing like that. You look around the room and grab a blindfold and wrap it around her eyes, she doesn't fight.. She doesn't need to see where you are taking her. She never has seen the house itself, never has and never well.

Hell. The bitch has not seen sunlight in two years, not had fresh air in two years. Has not had a bath in.. Well.. You cannot remember. But by the look of the sores on her skin, it has been a long time. You think back... Two months maybe? She has not touched solid food since she got here, you only will give her baby food. At first she refused to eat it, now, you watch as her eyes follow the baby food jar you bring down once every other day. It's always the same, pureed beets. It smells as bad as it looks, and the only reason you get it is because you get the expired shit from the market.

"C'mon. Step up." You order, leading her up the stairs. "God, you smell horrible." You turn your nose away and gag. "Give me your shirt." You take it off of her and throw it to the side; you are actually contemplating giving her a new one. Once you find one- you will go down near the creek and find one; people always dump old clothes down there.

You lead her to the bathroom and sit her on the toilet as your turn on the bath; she acts as though she is too weak to stand and you do not want her slipping in the shower. It isn't because you care about her, its because you need her alive for a few more weeks. You are almost there. And then, you don't give a flying crap what happens. You are considering just leaving her in the basement and abandoning the house. Leaving her to die slowly, chained to the wall.

Normally, you would only turn on the cold water, but she is in really bad shape and you figure one warm bath can't hurt. But she smells.. And soap wont do. So you pour bleach into the bath and dump the whore in with it.

You don't move when she whimpers as the bleach penetrates the open wounds on her skin. She doesn't scream anymore, she hardly makes any sound, she most certainly does not talk at all. You let her sit there for a few minutes, shivering before you pour water over her head and wash what is left of her hair. Malnutrition has a way of doing that to a body- the hair is usually the first to go.

When she is relatively clean, you lift her out of the tub and force her to stand there to dry off. She won't get a towel.

"I don't have a new shirt for you- and you have pissed all in your only other one. So until I can find one, you get nothing."

She doesn't move and you shake your head. Pitiful. And then your phone rings and a smile graces your face.

Will is calling.


	5. Empathy

**A/N: This is not going to be a marathon story, but this chapter is soooo important! Please review!**

Will has asked for an emergency session, and you hear it in his voice. He desperately needs to be seen. You ask him to meet you at your office in three hours. He agrees.

You reenter the bathroom where you had left it, and stop. She is on the floor, curled into the fetal position. Her eyes are open, but she isn't seeing anything. Not really.

She is alive, but just that. Not really living.

You look around the bathroom, the only window is at the very top and even if she tried, she wouldn't even be able to crawl to the toilet to lift herself up. You bite the inside of your cheek and bend down next to her.

Her skin is on fire, she is pale, her lips are tinged blue. She isn't getting enough oxygen into her system. She cannot die yet. You refuse to allow that.

So, you pick her up, careful not to jostle her too much. You take her into a spare bedroom and drop her onto the bed before stepping back out.

Two minutes later, you return with your nebulizer, it is to help with your asthma you haven't had a flair up in years but still have meds. You quickly set it up, not caring that the solution expired a year ago. Anything is better then nothing.

You quickly slip the mask around her face, pulling it tight before turning on the machine. She instantly starts to cough as the medication infiltrates her lungs. "Take a deep breath." You command her, pulling her up into a sitting position. She tries, but coughs again- she cannot get the air into her lungs. But slowly, as the medicine begins to work you actually see her body relax. Just a bit, and she collapses against the pillows as she is finally able to take a breath.

You wait until it is done before removing it from her face. She doesn't flinch when you touch her, her fever is too high. You shake your head, you are wasting precious medications on this bitch- but you have to keep her alive.

You rummage through your bathroom cabinet before finding some Nyquil, it'll help with the fever, and will knock her out for a good few hours. You carefully measure the dose before walking back into the bedroom.

She has not moved from her spot.

"Open your mouth." You order and dump the fluid inside.

Instantly, she gags on it and it bubbles out of her mouth, flowing all over her skin. She starts shaking immediately as you raise your hand, ready to slap her for being so careless.

But her eyes meet yours, and suddenly you stop.

Because you are no longer looking at the woman- you see Ruthie.

She has Ruthie's eyes, her chin and nose. And you know she did this on purpose, to show you she was in control. Or at least she thinks she is.

Yet, you cannot hit her, you cannot slap her, you cannot do anything.

And a feeling of panic briefly washes over you as you look at her, at what has been done to her. At what you have done to her.

What you have failed to do for her.

And you lower your hand. Unnerved that suddenly, you cannot hit her, that suddenly you almost worry that she maybe cold.

No. Not maybe, she is cold.

So you turn off the fan.

Her eyes are watching you. Watching every move. Waiting for you to beat her again.

And while she doesn't know that suddenly you cannot do it; you decide to play a game with her.

You simply smirk.

And walk away. Leaving her completely lost and confused. On a bed. In a room with heat. Something she has not experienced in years.

The sunlight, the smells, the touch of the blankets will be complete sensory overload for her; will throw what is left of her weakened psyche into utter chaos.

Oh. It is genius.

She will never see it coming.

Her known routine for two years will never be the same again.

The first thing you do is grab a heating blanket, and sweats before walking back into the room.

You dress her quickly, covering her body for the first time in decent clothes.

You can feel her body shaking, and you are not sure if its from the fever, or the absolute chaos her mind is in.

She is too weak to walk, or help dress herself, so you press her back down and turn the heating blanket on low before covering her with it. She is asleep before you leave the room.

She is sick, very sick- and you will need to stop at the pharmacy to get her more medications.

After all- she has a very important date coming soon, she needs to be ready.


	6. Ruthie

**AN: Yay for a long chapter!**

The weather outside is less then ideal, it is sleeting and the road conditions are quickly deteriorating You briefly consider canceling with Will, but then remember the absolute desperation in his voice; whatever was going on, he needed to see you.

The roads are virtually empty by the time you arrive at your office; you normally do not work on Fridays before you are making an exception for Will. The office is freezing and you rush over to the heat, running your hands together as you wait for the heat to kick on.

"Damn winter." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you ever moved to this God forsaken place. You had grown up fantasying living in a place where snow fell every winter and as soon as you could, you moved here. And now, you would give anything to move back home- where snow rarely visited and when it did, it lasted for less then a day.

Houston. You cannot wait to get back to Houston. The hot summers, the non-existent winters, culture, and most importantly, the world famous Houston Livestock and Rodeo. You smile at the image of walking Ruthie, hand in hand through the stockyards. She will be a perfect little cowgirl, barrel racing, BBQ and a new ranch home greet her.

You have been looking for houses online and believe you have found one you love. It sits on twenty five acres, enough for cattle, horses, whatever Ruthie desires. And in a rarity in Texas- it also has a basement.

It was a make or break deal, and the deal was made. You will own a ranch in Houston, Texas in a matter of days. And you and Ruthie will forever be out of this hell hole.

You hear the door open and realize Will has arrived, you crack your neck and prepare to help him deal with whatever crisis has befallen him. As you get ready to greet him, your phone rings, it is your sister calling. She knows you have a client, it can wait- you will call her later. You quickly throw the phone in a drawer, and tell Will to come on in.

He looks ragged, and you can see it in his eyes something is very wrong.

"You sounded pretty upset on the phone." You begin the session, taking note of the time.

He looks at you and stands up, before he begins pacing. "I.."

"Will?" You press him, raising an eyebrow.

"I.. I've always hung onto hope that she is alive."

"JJ?"

"Yes; just deep down, I have always known she is still alive."

"There is always that chance, Will." You reassure him

"But what is she isn't? What if I am torturing my boys by giving them something to hold onto when there is really nothing?" He looks at you in the eyes, his accent growing stronger as he grows increasingly upset. "Is it fair to Henry and Micheal to keep telling them mommy will be home, that she will come home and that she is sorry she cannot be here?"

"Well, have you talked to them about the possibility that she may never come home?"

He stops pacing. "That's why I called you." He stops pacing and sits down. "Do I tell them their mother is dead and not coming home; do I tell them she may come home? Every night Henry asks why she has not come home yet, he asks if he had done better in school would she come home, if he didn't yell at Micheal that one time, if he had behaved, or smiled more, or made his bed..."

"That's normal for his age, Will. It is how children deal.."

"But it's still happening, and he is depressed. I took him to the pediatrician who diagnosed him with depression. My eight year old has depression. And all I am doing is lying to him."

You stare at him. "Will, how are you lying to Henry?

"By telling him JJ is coming home! She isn't.. She is not coming home, and I.. I.."He covers his face with his hands. "I love her and I just want her home."

You feel a stab of pain in your chest. "Will, tell me what it would look like if JJ came home."

He sniffles and he smiles. "I dream about it, I dream about getting the call from Hotch. And he says we have her, Will, we have her. I keep a suitcase packed in the closet, it has stuff for the boys, and stuff for me, and stuff for JJ. So, I do not have to waste a second getting to her, I will grab the suitcase and we will go to her."

You nod. "And what if she doesn't?"

He licks his lips, "I think I have accepted that she is never coming home."

"Why?"

"I threw the suitcase away today."

It is an emotionally draining session, and two hours later, Will leaves feeling better. You told him you support however he feels, and will help him tell the boys that JJ is not coming home if eh decides he wants that.

You are humming to yourself when you remember you sister had called you. You grab your phone as you lock up the office. And you stop.

You have over fifty missed calls and a hundred text messages.

Frantically, you dial your sister. She answers on the first ring.

"I.. I..." She is hysterical and your heart drops.

"Where's Ruthie?" You run outside, to your truck.

"I was outside, we were outside playing. She was playing with the bubble machine and I turned around for a second, the dog was running out. When I turned back she was gone." She pauses. "The FBI is already here."

You drop the phone. Your baby daughter is missing.

And the FBI is coming.

And they will be coming to your house.

Where their agent has been held for the past two years.


	7. Jamie

**AN: I am going to TRY and work on Exhale today!**

You somehow make it to your truck, thanking God for a remote start option; it saved you another second wasted getting to Ruthie. Your legs are jello and tears are pouring down your cheeks.

Ruthie. Your sweet, innocent baby girl. What could have happened to her?

A million tragic ideas race through your mind at lightning speed, some about Ruthie and some about the woman locked in a room at your house. Others about the FBI.

What the hell are you going to do? You are so close, days away from what you have been waiting for for two years. And you put your face into your hands and sob. Life isn't fair, you never get what you want.

Ruthie. You have to stay focused on Ruthie. You have to bring her home... Maybe she wandered off, she always did it. In stores, at school, she is so full of curiosity and wonder that safety was nothing to be concerned about in Ruthie's world. If she wandered off, where did she go? Did she have her jacket? Her Lovie, the ragged stuffed frog she carries with her everywhere? Oh. God. The pond.. You can only hope she has not ventured that far. It's all ice!

And what if she did wander off on her own?

What kind of person- no- what kind of animal would steal a child from their own parent? From the safety of their own front yard? What kind of animal takes a person away from everything they know and love? Leaves their family to worry sick for...

And you stop.

You are that kind of animal. You are that kind of person. You are as evil and sick as the person who took Ruthie.

And suddenly you understand what Will must be going through. And what he has been going through for two long years.

The panic, the anxiety, the fear, the constant not knowing- you have lived it for five minutes- this has been his existence for two years.

And then there is the FBI who will be at your house any minute. At the very house their agent is in, tied to a bed. Once they find her, it isn't an if, it is once they find her- everything is over.

You will lose Ruthie one way or the other.

The FBI will find the thing in your room, and instantly connect the dots, that Ruthie is not yours, but hers. They will never understand that you were just trying to save the child from a life time of misery and abuse and neglect

Or you will lose Ruthie to mother nature, to a psycho.

And you love Ruthie so much, you would rather her go to Will then to be raised by a stranger. Or not raised.. And forever two.

It is an hour drive home, but it feels like it is taking so much longer. And your phone rings, without looking at the caller ID, you answer it.

"What!" You screech, one hand on the wheel as your find yourself stuck in stand still traffic. No. Not now! Ruthie.. Ruthie needs you.

"Good to hear your voice too." The voice on the other end laughs.

"Jamie, I do not have time.." You growl to your son, not in the mood to joke. It is his fault you are in this situation anyway! Damn asshole kid of yours.

"They let me go, I'm getting out early. It was supposed to be a surprise.." Jamie tells you, and a grin washes over your face as relief hits. "I'm at the bus station- come get me."

God is on your side today, Jamie is being released from prison after only serving a year and eleven months of his five year sentence. Good, he owes you big now, and it couldn't come at a better time. "I am five minutes away."

Six minutes later, you throw the truck into park and rush onto the bus platform, looking for your son. You see him instantly, his bright red hair stands out immediately. And he sees you and walks towards you, putting out his cigar. He knows you cannot stand them.

"Jamie!" You open your arms and embrace him. "Oh, how I've missed you."

He smiles and lifts you up into a gigantic hug. "I missed you too, mom."


	8. Hotch

**AN: Sorry for the delay, it has been an AWFUL week.**

You have missed his welcoming embrace for two years, your son, your perfect angel had been sent to prison at the corrupted hands of the government. He had done nothing wrong, and while you fought the charges he had been arrested on, both you and he had lost.

Jamie, your one and only son, your perfect baby was sent away for two years on robbery charges. Two damn years of his life lost because the system was broken. Your child did what he had to do, that punk ass wimp of an old man had grossly exaggerated his side of the story, expelling such nonsense that Jamie had pistol whipped him and took the five dollars in his pocket. And because he was an eighty seven year old WWII vet, the jury had suckers written all over their pathetic faces, and Jamie never stood a chance.

He was arrested on robbery charges the very day he brought that thing to your home. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise because the police, the FBI, nobody looked twice at Jaime in connection with her disappearance.

He had also brought you your granddaughter, your baby, Ruthie.

And the tears start pouring again. You gain your son back only to lose your granddaughter.

The world just isn't fair.

"Mom? Mom, what is it?" Jamie looks to you, his bright blue eyes full of concern. "Mom, do you need me to drive?"

You shake your head. "No, no, son. But I need you for something else." You take a deep breath. "Do you remember that woman you brought home?"

"That blonde bitch?" You nod. "Of course, I remember her. Don't worry about that ma, they'll never find her..."

You stop and look away, Jamie immediately catches on. "Ma, you did do what I told you, right?"

And you cannot answer him, because deep down, you know you failed him.

"Shit! Ma! Oh shit..." He throws his hands into his head. "She's alive?" You nod, the tears now streaming down your face. He starts kicing the dash board, cussing and swearing at you, at anyone.

"Son, honey- something good came out of this though!" You try to brighten the situation.

"What ma? What good can come of holding a woman chained in a basement for two damn years?"

You force a smile. "She had a baby, a little girl. I have been raising her!" And you close your eyes when you see his hand coming towards you, whimper when you feel the sting on your cheek.

"I don't give the damn about the baby, you should have killed her too." He growls at you. "Where is the baby then?"

"She's.. She's.. Missing. The FBI is at the house waiting for me."

His eyes pierce into you. "The FBI is coming to your house, where there is a woman chained in the basement? Not only is she a woman, she is one of their agents?"

"I need you to move her!" You shout. "I.. I have a plan. Ruthie disappeared from my sister's house, the FBI is there, but I am sure they will want to come and search the house. We still have the truck, you get into the house and load up the girl and go. I have a ranch in Houston.."

He bites his lip. "Do not bring that kid with you. Do you understand? If you bring that kid with us, I will kill her."

And you nod, because you know he is capable of it. "I.. I understand. What are you going to do with the woman... She's sick Jamie, she cannot move by herself."

He glares at you. "Good, it'll be a lot easier to drown her in the pond if she cannot struggle."

You stare at your son, the one you thought was an angel. He is going to kill her, the woman you have taken less then good care of the past two years, and then he will kill Ruthie.

And you do not know what to do. Except one thing.

"Pull over, I have to pee." He commands and you do as he says.

And as he steps out of the car, you resign yourself you are going to jail, but you have to protect Ruthie. You just hope the FBI can get to your home quick enough...

But you stop.

Because another idea hits you.

And a smile cracks across your face and you drive off. Leaving Jamie cursing and chasing after you.

And you pick up your phone and call someone you have been in contact with for the last few years.

Two rings into the call you hear it:

"Hotchner."


	9. Ellen

**AN: School is almost out, and once that happens I can hopefully write a bit more!**

"Aaron?" You are on a first name basis with him, have been since you started seeing Will. He is Will's emergency contact and has spent a lot of time supporting the young detective, accompanying him to sessions when Will was at his lowest, and stepping in to help out with the two little boys. You have become friends with him, and had circumstances been different, your relationship may have evolved into something more.

"Ellen.."

"Have you found my baby?" You sob into the phone; you know he has already been told that she is the mother of the missing child. "Please, have you found Ruthie?"

"Not yet, Dr. Simon- but there are a lot of people looking for her. We need to talk to you, I am heading your way and will meet you at your house."

"No- no. I am already almost to my sister's, that's where Ruthie was last seen- let me come there and I can help look for her."

There is a hesitation, and you can tell something has been found out, something has been discovered. "Aaron, please, what is it?"

"Things are not adding up Dr. Simon; we've talked to your sister and certain timelines do not add up. "

Your heart rate increases exponentially and you make a rookie mistake. "She was adopted." You spill out before even hearing what his concerns were.

"Ruthie? Okay, was it a private adoption? We will need to contact the agency and lawyer. If Ruthie was abducted, we would need to look at her birth family."

"I don't remember where she was adopted from…"

There is another pause. "You don't remember where your daughter was adopted from? She's two years old, there is a strong possibility you should still be in contact with whoever she came from. Was it DHS? Did she come from foster care, or was it a private adoption…"

"I DO NOT KNOW!" You shout. "Just find my daughter, do your damn job!" And with that you slam down your phone and head home. You have to get rid of the parasite living in your house.

It is raining buckets outside and by the time you get to your home, you know the FBI has figured something out and know they will be looking into you. They will find out everything, they will find out that you are not actually a therapist, that it is all forged, they will find out your name is not Ellen Simon but Simone Elaine, that Jamie is your son, that Ruthie is not your daughter.. They will find their agent in your home.

And you burst into your home and stop did in your tracks.

Jamie is home, he beat you home. And on the floor, at his feet, is the woman. She isn't moving, and you cannot tell if she is breathing.

"Welcome home, mom."

"What did you do?" You growl, not taking another step.

"She is our leverage, you know they have connected the dots, that Ruthie cannot be yours.. they will start looking. And once they do a DNA test, its game over. You are not getting Ruthie back, and we are not going to jail."

You nod, accepting this. "What do we do?"

"We offer them an exchange.. they can have closure for their agent we can let them know where her body is, the child can go home to daddy.. and we get to go free."

And a smile creeps across your face, you may have lost one child, but your son, your precious son is home. And he is all that matters.


	10. Battle

**AN: Not my best, but its here! Also, I need to address this and be very clear about this- I write things happening to JJ because this is how I heal from my trauma, I relate to JJ even though she is fictional. Writing helps me heal... please leave it at that. If you have been following my stories, you know what to somewhat expect. I don't do fluff.**

You have sat in your house, on the floor, in Ruthie's room for the past hour. You stare at her toys, her favorite blanket, her artwork she did at daycare. You stare at the empty toddler bed, the diapers, and sippy cup; you stare at her brand new pair of cowgirl boots she was going to stomp around the Houston rodeo in. And you know she never will, at least now with you.

The image of you walking hand in hand with the little blonde haired girl was shattered today; and you know you are never getting her back and tears begin rolling down your cheeks and you clinch her favorite stuffed cow closer to your heart. It has Ruthie's scent on it, and if you close your eyes, you can almost feel her. Almost.

You have lost her in two ways, both of which you know you are never getting her back. And once the FBI discovers her true identity; then it is came over for everyone. And Ruthie will go home with that scum currently taking up precious oxygen on your floor.

Jamie is watching her, and she hasn't moved since you have been home; you wonder if she has died either by natural circumstances or.. or not.

"Mom, where is the shovel?" Jamie's voice interrupts your thoughts.

You sniffle a bit. "In the basement behind the water heater." And then it hits you and you jump up. "Jamie.. Jamie what are you doing?"

He whirls around, anger in his eyes. "She is a dammed federal agent, we have to get rid of her before the feds bust in here…"

"They won't.." You shake your head.

"They won't? C'mon ma! They have been calling nonstop and you won't answer the damn phone! They know something is up."

"Did you kill her, Jamie?" You ask, dropping your voice.

He goes silent and you can tell he is about to answer, when your phone goes off again. Your eyes glance down and you see it is a text message from Aaron. Without thinking twice, you open the message and it is a picture of him holding Ruthie. Ruthie is safe, muddy and filthy but safe. She is smiling and waving.

"Call now." The text line says underneath it.

"She's safe, Jamie!" You smile at him.

And then it goes to hell.

Because outside you see numerous police cars pull up; and the unmistakable black SUVs.

"MA!" Jamie screams, "Get back!"

And it is utter chaos.

There is banging on the door, phones are going off, and then without warning, Jamie grabs you and a gun before pulling you to the window, instantly he begins firing out the glass and you know everything has just gotten much, much worse.

Because now, it is a hostage situation. And the FBI doesn't know it yet, but their agent is the hostage and she is your only way out.

You chew on your lip and this time when the phone rings, you answer.

"Aaron." Your voice takes on a different tone.

"Dr.."

You interrupt him immediately. "Back away from my house, you and all the cops get the hell off my property."

"Ellen, what is going on?" You can tell he is confused, has no idea.

"Get the hell off my property, you have five minutes to do it…" You take a deep breath. "Or I kill her."

There is silence for a brief moment. "Stay by your phone." You disconnect the call and glare at your son. "Is she breathing?"

He shrugs, "I don't know."

"Get over there and take her picture." You grab a newspaper and throw it at him. "Put that by her."

He does as he is told and you look at the picture before adding a message and sending it to Aaron. "Get off my property, or Agent Jareau dies." And a smile creeps across your face... now, now you are in control.


	11. Plot

**AN: LOOOOONG chapter ahead. This is the final chapter, let me know if you want a sequel.**

You wish, you wish so desperately you could have seen the look on Aaron's face when he got the picture. Instead, what you got was something much, much worse. And you put your head in your hands and try and take a deep breath, but you can't.

So, instead, you find your mind drifting back and away to what had just occurred a few hours before and really what had occurred over the last few years.

The picture, the damn text. That had been your downfall, you just severely underestimated the strength, power and speed of the FBI. You had underestimated how badly they wanted their agent back.

And that underestimation had cost you dearly. It had cost Jamie dearly, and Ruthie… the innocence lost is almost too much to bare. And you sniffle, not bothering to hold back the tears. It isn't fair, nothing is fair, life is not fair.

You are innocent and have done nothing wrong, nothing at all, but you know the FBI won't see it that way, the media won't, nobody will. You have a hell of a fight up against you, but you will fight and you will prove you were right in your actions.

The room is cold and light is hardly filtering in, you are so thirsty but there is no water. Fuck. This is one hell of a mess you have found yourself in.

So you sit there, and begin planning. Planning everything. You accept that you are not getting out of this without ending up in prison, or without a bullet in your skull. You seriously doubt the FBI would mind sparing the cost of a thousand bullets in your body, especially now that they know you have had their agent for years.

First things first, your defense. Insanity? No, it would never work, especially since Aaron knows you have been seeing clients for years. Stockholm syndrome? Possibly, it could work, but again, Aaron and his gang know you have been functioning quite well for the last few years.

Blame? Now there is something that could work, your lips curl into a small grin. Blame. Blame that damn bitch for everything- she wanted to stay, she refused to take care of herself, you were handling all of her daily needs. She was suicidal and you had kept her safe and alive… you didn't want to send her inpatient because you knew she wouldn't get the help she needed…. Oh my God, it could actually work!

And suddenly, the door swings open and your eyes shoot up.

In walks Aaron Hotchner, a look you have never seen before is plastered on his face as he stares you down.

"You killed my son." You hiss at him as he sits across the table from you, a large file in his hands.

"I defused the situation." His voice is void of emotion, clinical, professional. And haunting.

"What situation?"

He looks up and his eyes pierce your body. "You know damn well what I am talking about." He growls and opens the large file on his desk.

"Jamie's innocent! A baby, wouldn't hurt a fly!"

And had you not been convinced he was a professional, by the look he gives you, you would have been sure that he would leap across the table and strangle you right then.

"Innocent? Jamie is not close to innocent, are you aware of his criminal history?"

"He was framed." You wish you could cross your arms, but handcuffs are preventing that.

"Dealing, production, sexual assault, armed robbery- he wasn't innocent."

"And you think that piece of shit you took from my house was?" You spit, anger bubbling through your body.

"I know she was…"

"She wanted this." You feel your cheeks growing red.

"She wanted to be abducted, held against her will, sexually assaulted, and nearly killed?" His tone does not rise, there is no fluctuation in his voice. "She wanted her daughter taken from her?"

"That bitch…"

"Agent Jareau…" He firmly corrects you.

"That bitch came to me for help, she was suicidal, wanting to die. I kept her safe."

He stares at you and you know he didn't bite it, not for one second. "Why don't you tell me what happened; and I'll see if the judge will allow you out of solitary after a few decades."

The lump in your throat grows tremendously because you know he is right. And you chew on your lip. Mistake. Because he sees it and knows he is onto something. "Or, if you decide not to cooperate, I promise I will pull every string I have, ask for every favor owed, and hire the best damn prosecutors I can find to ensure you never have a chance of seeing another ray of sunlight. You will wish I had put the bullet in your head, along with your son. I will ensure every bit of evidence I find against you is presented to a jury, and fight that your trial is not moved out of town. I will have your client subpoenaed to prove you are not insane, and that you never indicated you were holding a woman hostage in your basement." He pauses and looks back up at you. "And you will never see, hold, or look at Ruthie again. I will make sure you do not get any pictures of her ever again, you will have nothing but your memories to remember her; and she will never hear your name." One more pause. "You will not have any visitors, and you will be under constant watch." He licks his lips and takes a sip of water. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened over the past two years."

You sniff and feel as if you have been stabbed in the chest. But he starts talking again. "Your son is dead, Ellen. Don't defend him, don't try and maintain any type of dignity you think he may have had. He was a serial killer, and you only know of one of his victims. How many more were there? He didn't just target blondes, no, Agent Jareau was a mistake and he had every intention to kill her. The reason he didn't was not something he planned, instead, he got caught. He had you step in, all the while knowing you could be caught. Sound about right?"

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now. No. Not Jamie. You shake your head and refuse to believe what he is telling you. "No, that isn't true."

"We have already connected him to the murder of at least seven other victims; do you want to know who is next target was?"

You swallow. "Why? Why does it matter? That person is safe, whoever you are mixing Jamie up with…"

But he interrupts you. "Ruthie."

And your heart stops right there.

"He was coming after Ruthie; he didn't give a damn about Agent Jareau. He wanted the little girl."

Your hands are shaking. "My son is not a serial killer!"

"Did he ever talk to you about the night he took Agent Jareau? Or did you even ask?" The room is getting hotter and you are getting more uncomfortable.

"I never asked, I trusted him!" You shout pounding on the table.

"You trusted your son when he brought in a woman and left her chained to a wall?"

"Jamie didn't chain her up!"

"She sure as hell didn't do it to herself." He replies. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. "Tell me what happened with Agent Jareau. Do not lie to me about Jamie, we already have him. He will not go to trial, you, however, will."

You squirm in your chair. "Is she alive?"

"Does it matter?" He shoots back.

"Yes." You bite at him.

He nods. "She is."

You grin and lean back in your chair. "Good. Then she can tell you all about it."

He stares at you for a moment longer before standing up and pushing the chair back into place. And as he leaves you smile, because you still have control.

Let the damn FBI think Jamie took that bitch, but you know the truth.

"Oh, and agent?" You call out to him. "You can threaten me all you want, just remember, revenge is not beyond my grasp."

He stops and turns around. "If you touch her, if you lay a hand on..."

"I won't do a thing, after all, by the sounds of it, I will be here for life." You smile and continue to play the game, psychological torture.

"I will watch and follow you…"

You explode into manic laughter. "You have seen me once a week since she went missing and never had any clue that I had her! You sat with Will as he cried his eyes out to me about his missing wife, you allowed me access to her children- I do not fear you agent. I was right in front of you the entire time and you couldn't see it. You failed, not me."

A chill runs down his spine and he turns on his heal before sitting back at the table. "But Agent Jareau won." His smile is infuriating. "The text message came from your phone, she alerted us that she was with you. We knew all along- long before you sent that message. Ruthie was how we got to you, she was always safe and never missing. Your sister played along with us and your son, Jamie? He confessed it all in prison in exchange for a lighter sentence."

Your mouth drops.

"Would you like to know more? We interviewed Jamie a few weeks ago, after we got a lead that he was a serial killer we were looking for. He wouldn't talk to us, until we offered a better deal. He would be in prison for the rest of his life, but he wouldn't be in solitary confinement any longer, he could have access to ESPN. That was all he asked for."

"He played along?" Your voice is in shock.

"He did. He sang like a canary and led us right to Ruthie, to Agent Jareau. We have known where she was for the past week; she texted us from a phone we gave Jamie. We knew she was alive."

"You killed my son and…"

"Who said he was dead?" He glares at you.

"You shot him!"

"With a rubber bullet that exploded red paint on impact. He sold you out. We know everything." You watch as he stands. "And you have no control anymore."

He walks out after that, leaving you fuming. And all you can think about is revenge.

Your lawyer walks in just then, shaking hands with Aaron before greeting you and by the look on his face, you know you are no longer swimming with the fishes, you are swimming with the sharks.

"Agent Jareau will survive." He begins. "She is very sick, but the doctors are hopeful."

"Is there anything we can do about that?" You whisper. "She knows too much, witnessed too much."

"And that is your fault." He responds. "But there is always something we can do."

"How much is my bail?"

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. "You held a federal agent against her will for two years, you have no bail."

And it hits you hard, that maybe Aaron was right. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are not getting out of here. Not now and not ever. I recommend a plea deal…"

And you suck in a deep breath. "No. I want to see that bitch in court."

He grins. "As you wish."

And you begin plotting and planning, knowing full well it can take months to years to have your day in court. But it will not matter, because the more time you have, the more time you have to plot your revenge.

And like a novel in your hand, you begin writing the story and you cannot wait to see how it plays out in court.


End file.
